


Blood

by Risingwood



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fake AH Crew, his childhood for my au kinda, ryan is a smol, theres blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 09:49:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6047131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Risingwood/pseuds/Risingwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A memory from Ryan's childhood.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blood

Sitting inside the hallway closet, as he did sometimes, Ryan smiled softly to himself as he whispered to Margaret, his imaginary friend.  It was the only place he could talk to her, as it was dark and quiet, and she refused to appear when others could see her.  They were in the middle of an intriguing conversation about school, when he heard the  _ creak _ of the front door open.  He stopped mid-sentence.  Was someone coming into the house?  Maybe it was Aunt Ruth, making one of her unexpected visits.  His winced, remembering that the last time she’d come over, she had punished him when he ate a cookie before dinner.

There was a voice, but it wasn’t Aunt Ruth’s, nor Uncle John’s.  Who was it?  It sounded male, and wait, was that another one?  Sure enough, someone else was speaking, and the door shut quietly behind them.  Ryan didn’t want to move; something was telling him to stay right where he was.  Mom and dad would deal with it.

So he sat and listened as the two figures outside took a few steps.  And he heard the voices of his mom and dad, as well as their footsteps coming down the stairs.  Something felt wrong, but Ryan didn’t know what.

He heard his mom shriek suddenly, sending a jolt down Ryan’s spine.  What was happening out there?

“This is a robbery.  Hands up or I’ll shoot,” An unknown voice, the same as the one he’d heard before, spoke. “Good.  Now, where do you keep the valuables?”

There was a few shuffling noises outside.  Ryan heard nothing from his mother; instead, two loud  _ bang _ ’s split the short silence.  The sound ricocheted around the room, accompanied by more screams from Ryan’s mother.

“Don’t you dare go for your phone like  _ he  _ did,” the voice from before said, before there were more shuffling noises.

“Let go of-!” Ryan heard his mother yell, getting cut off by a hollow  _ clunk _ sound.  Ryan’s eyes widened at the noise.  He pressed his face against the space between the closet door and the frame, peering out.  Ryan almost screamed.  Five or so meters in front of the closet, laid his mom and dad, their lifeless bodies sitting in a puddle of blood.

It made Ryan physically sick.  He silently gagged, almost retching, but he was able to hold back the vomit.  Squeezing his eyes shut, he listened intently for anything.

_ Squelch, squelch, squelch.   _ The sound of wet footsteps.  His breath quickened, and he opened his mouth to quiet his heavy breathing.  Trying to imagine anything but the situation he was in, he mentally put himself at the school park.  Walking up to the colorful metal structure, climbing up the ladder, sliding down the slide.  His nearly photographic memory recalled every detail, every woodchip at that park.  All he needed to do was focus on the little things, like how the leftmost swing set was about two inches closer to the ground than the others.  Or how the third bar of the monkey bars had chipped paint almost in the shape of a shark.

It worked until he heard a large  _ thump  _ from the next room, almost as if something had fallen to the ground.  Opening his eyes slowly, he dared to peek outside.  It was a mistake.  From his position, he could clearly see the pair of robbers in the kitchen, as well as the absence of his parents’ bodies.

“What do we do with ‘em?”  Ryan heard one robber, the shorter one, ask.

“I dunno, pack them in the car,” the other responded. “We’ll take them to Edgar.  He’s got that incinerator at the warehouse, that’ll clear up the evidence.”

“What about the floor?” the first robber motioned towards Ryan, at the space in front of closet.  The bright red stains stood out in stark contrast with the cedar floorboards.

“Don’t worry about it.  Nobody will notice for a while, there weren’t any kids or anything here.  No one will come to check up on them,” he waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ve seen it all before.”

Ryan’s eyes scanned the men, his eyes wide in fear.  He had no idea what an “incinerator” was, but it didn’t sound good.  The robbers turned their attention to a black bag sitting at their feet.  What was inside?  Ryan didn’t know for sure, and he hoped to god that his suspicions were incorrect.  The first man lifted up the bag, hoisting it over his shoulder.

“Can’t believe you got ‘em both in here,” he spoke, a hint of humor in his voice.

“Yeah, well, they were pretty small.  Skinny too,” the second man chuckled to himself.  “There doesn’t seem to be much in here,” he said as he glanced around.  “I’ll grab anything that might be of value.” he left the room, turning the corner, and going into the office.

Frozen in fear again, Ryan scooted himself to the back of the closet as quietly as he could.  He could not take it anymore.  His eight-year-old mind was unable to comprehend the situation at hand.  It all felt like a bad nightmare to him.  In a few minutes, he would wake up, and he’d run to his mother, and she’d comb his hair with her hands, and tell him everything was alright.  Ryan pinched himself multiple times, drawing blood and bruising himself, hoping to wake himself up.  But it didn’t happen.  He didn’t wake up.

Ryan shivered, chilled to the bone.  They weren’t gone, they weren’t.  His eyes roamed the pitch-black closet briefly, before he shut them tightly, seeing stars.  He put himself into his happy place again.  And that time, he didn’t leave until he fell into a dreamless sleep, exhausted from the terror he felt.

He didn’t wake up for hours.  As his eyes blinked open, he noticed that he wasn’t in his bed.  Then it hit him; the memories of hours prior slammed into him like a truck.  Unable to lift his heavy head, tears welled up in his eyes.  For the first time in a long time, he cried; long sobs, whimpering and sniffling, screaming in panic, his emotions carried him through each type.

His smile, despite rarely ever leaving his face before, fell deep into his heart, cowering next to the memory of his mother and father.


End file.
